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 PALGRAVE STUDIES IN
THE HISTORY
OF CHILDHOOD

CHILD PROTECTION IN ENGLAND,

1960–2000
Expertise, Experience, and Emotion

JENNIFER CRANE
Palgrave Studies in the History of Childhood

Series Editors
George Rousseau
University of Oxford, UK

Laurence Brockliss
University of Oxford, UK
Aims of the Series
Palgrave Studies in the History of Childhood is the first of its kind to
historicise childhood in the English-speaking world; at present no historical
series on children/childhood exists, despite burgeoning areas within Child
Studies. The series aims to act both as a forum for publishing works in the
history of childhood and a mechanism for consolidating the identity and
attraction of the new discipline.

Editorial Board:
Matthew Grenby (Newcastle)
Colin Heywood (Nottingham)
Heather Montgomery (Open)
Hugh Morrison (Otago)
Anja Müller (Siegen, Germany)
Sïan Pooley (Magdalen, Oxford)
Patrick Joseph Ryan (King’s University College at Western University,
Canada)
Lucy Underwood (Warwick)
Karen Vallgårda (Copenhagen)

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14586
 Jennifer Crane

Child Protection
in England,
1960–2000
Expertise, Experience, and Emotion
Jennifer Crane
University of Warwick
Coventry, UK

Palgrave Studies in the History of Childhood

ISBN 978-3-319-94717-4    ISBN 978-3-319-94718-1 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94718-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018948678

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2018. This book is an open access
publication.
Open Access This book is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution
4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits
use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as
you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the
Creative Commons license and indicate if changes were made.
The images or other third party material in this book are included in the book’s Creative
Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not
included in the book’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by
statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly
from the copyright holder.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to
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This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
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The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
 Acknowledgements

I am incredibly grateful to a variety of groups and individuals whose men-

torship, wisdom, and generosity has made this research possible.
I am very grateful to the Wellcome Trust for their Doctoral Studentship
[grant number WT099346MA], without which I could not have done
the PhD on which this research is based. The Wellcome Trust also jointly
awarded Eve Colpus and I a small grant [200420/Z/15/Z] to convene
a witness seminar about ‘30 Years of ChildLine’ in June 2016. By work-
ing closely with Eve, and by meeting with contemporary witnesses, I was
able to enhance my thinking about this topic. I am also grateful to the
Wellcome Trust for providing the funding to make this book open access,
and to the organisation’s open access team, and the library team at the
University of Warwick, for guiding me through the mechanics of this
process. I have also always found the Humanities and Social Sciences
team at Wellcome incredibly helpful, enthusiastic, and generous with
their time, and appreciate the training opportunities and peer-support
networks they facilitate.
I am very grateful to present and former colleagues at the Centre for
the History of Medicine, University of Warwick, where I have undertaken
my Masters, PhD, and first postdoctoral project in the lovely ‘Cultural
History of the NHS’ team, led by Roberta Bivins and Mathew Thomson
and funded by the Wellcome Trust [104837/Z/14/Z]. My PhD supervi-
sor, Mathew Thomson, has always been a generous reader of my work and
inspiring colleague. I have also been particularly grateful for insightful
comments, career advice, and support from Centre colleagues Roberta
Bivins, Hilary Marland, Angela Davis, Jane Hand, Tom Bray, Margaret

v
vi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Charleroy, Rachel Bennett, Andrew Burchell, Flo Swann, and Kate Mahoney.
In addition, I have benefited immensely from the hard work, organisa-
tional skills, wisdom, and good humour of our Centre administrators,
Sheilagh Holmes and Tracy Horton.
More broadly—and outside of Warwick—a number of wonderful
scholars have been generous enough to read drafts of my chapters, and I
would like to thank Laura King, Eve Colpus, Grace Huxford, Hannah
Elizabeth, Sophie Rees, Jono Taylor, and Phil King in particular. I am also
grateful to the anonymous reviewers of this book, whose comments were
challenging and enriching, and to Heather Montgomery, who provided
generous feedback on the full final manuscript. My viva was also a useful
and productive experience, for which I thank my examiners Pat Thane and
Roberta Bivins. I am also grateful to Pat Thane for inviting me to join the
European University Institute network, The Quest for Welfare and
Democracy: Voluntary Associations, Families and the State, 1880s to present.
Being a part of this network, and hearing from incredible scholars at their
events, has really helped me to hone the arguments of this book.
Many archivists have been incredibly helpful while I conducted my
research, notably at the Bodleian Library, British Film Institute, British
Library, Children’s Society, Hall-Carpenter Archives at the London School
of Economics, Institute of Education, Kidscape, Liverpool University
Special Collections and Archives, Modern Records Centre, National
Archives, and Wellcome Library. I am always thankful for their wisdom
and kindness. The editors at Palgrave Macmillan, Emily Russell and
Carmel Kennedy, have also been very helpful, informative, and efficient
throughout the publishing process. I am also grateful for the thought-
provoking guidance and advice from Palgrave’s History of Childhood
series editors, Laurence Brockliss and George Rousseau.
Some ideas and discussions in this book were initially tested out and
featured in two journal articles, in slightly different forms—“The bones
tell a story the child is too young or too frightened to ‘tell’: The Battered
Child Syndrome in Post-war Britain and America”, Social History of
Medicine, 28 (4) (2015): 767–788 and ‘Painful Times: The Emergence
and Campaigning of Parents Against Injustice in 1980s and 1990s Britain’,
Twentieth Century British History, 26 (3) (2015): 450–476. Both articles
were published Open Access under a Creative Commons CC-BY article,
thanks to the Wellcome Trust, and I have reproduced and reinterpreted
some thinking and archival work from these articles in this book under the
terms of that licence. I am grateful to Social History of Medicine and
Twentieth Century British History for giving me the opportunity to p ­ ublish
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
   vii

this work as an early career researcher, and to the peer reviewers of these
articles for their thought-provoking and generous comments.
I am as ever immeasurably grateful for the lifelong support and love
from my husband, David Bowkett, and my parents, Steve and Hazel
Crane.
 Contents

1 Introduction   1

2 The Battered Child Syndrome: Parents and Children

as Objects of Medical Study  27

3 Hearing Children’s Experiences in Public  45

4 Inculcating Child Expertise in Schools and Homes  77

5 Collective Action by Parents and Complicating Family Life 107

6 Mothers, Media, and Individualism in Public Policy 133

7 The Visibility of Survivors and Experience as Expertise 161

8 Conclusion 197

Index  211

ix
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

In July 2014, then Home Secretary Theresa May established an

Independent Inquiry into Child Abuse to ‘consider whether public bod-
ies—and other, non-state, institutions—have taken seriously their duty of
care to protect children from sexual abuse’.1 After the establishment of
this inquiry, May emphasised the need to involve adults who had them-
selves been abused in childhood, reiterating her desire to gain the ‘confi-
dence of survivors who must be at the heart of this process’.2 From the
outset, voluntary groups working in this area voiced discontent. The
National Association for People Abused in Childhood stated in November
2014 that the inquiry was ‘a farce’ and a ‘dead duck’ and highlighted that
they had not been contacted until December 2014—months after the
inquiry began to take shape.3 Survivor groups were critical of the appoint-
ments of Baroness Elizabeth Butler-Sloss and subsequently Dame Fiona
Woolf to chair the inquiry, and also argued that the inquiry should be
granted statutory powers, so that it could seize documents and compel
witnesses to provide evidence.4 Such critique proved relatively influential.
In February 2015, the inquiry was reconstituted on a statutory footing,
and Butler-Sloss and Woolf both stepped down, to be replaced in March
2015 by Justice Lowell Goddard.5 Resigning from the Inquiry, Woolf
stated that ‘It’s about the victims—their voices absolutely have to be
heard—if I don’t command their confidence, then I need to get out of the
way.’6 Within the new statutory inquiry, led from August 2016 by Professor

© The Author(s) 2018 1

J. Crane, Child Protection in England, 1960–2000, Palgrave Studies
in the History of Childhood,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-94718-1_1
2 J. CRANE

Alexis Jay, focus on survivor testimony remained central. The inquiry

included a Victim and Survivors’ Consultative Panel and ‘The Truth
Project’, which allowed any adult abused in childhood to share their expe-
riences by phone, email, post, online, or in person.7
The furore over the inquiry demonstrated that politicians have recently
felt the need to seek out the opinions of people who may be personally
affected by legislation. This example also indicates that voluntary organ-
isations have emerged seeking to represent and empower people who have
been affected by shared experience. Today these entwined phenomena—
the public discussion of experiences, the interest of policy-makers in con-
sultation, the emergence of representative voluntary groups—may appear
relatively unremarkable. However, this book argues that these trends
developed in tandem since the 1960s and indeed demonstrates that the
ability of public groups and communities to represent themselves in media
discussions and in policy has been hard won and contested, depending on
the opening and closing down of media, political, and professional inter-
est, and rarely guaranteed.
This is particularly the case in the field of child protection, social and
political understandings of which have rapidly developed over the late
twentieth century, with the testimonies of children, concerned parents,
and survivors themselves increasingly made public. By examining the
interplay between the politics of experience, expertise, and emotion in this
area, this book demonstrates that lines between ‘public’ and ‘expert’ opin-
ion have become blurred, notably by the campaigning of small voluntary
organisations, often led by individuals with direct personal experience of
the issues they campaign around. These groups have challenged tradition-
ally placed ‘experts’, such as physicians, social workers, solicitors, and
policy-­makers, and have mediated and reshaped the concerns of new iden-
tity constituencies. In doing so, the groups relied on collaboration with
media to express their viewpoints. They were not always able to change
policy or practice. Nonetheless, they contributed to a moment in which
experience and emotion were becoming more politically and publicly vis-
ible and, to an extent, more influential. The campaigning of these groups
has not been studied before, yet it has been significant in shaping defini-
tions of child protection, responsibility, harm, and experience, in terms
defined by children, parents, and survivors. Through campaigning, chil-
dren, parents, and survivors have become agents in, and subjects of, rather
than objects of, social policy—directly involved in changing child
protection policy and practice, often in emotional and experiential terms
guided by personal life narratives.
 INTRODUCTION 3

Child Protection in England

In understanding the emergence of recent concerns about child abuse, it
is useful to take a long historical view. Looking back over the past 150 years
shows that there have been several other peaks of concern about child
abuse and maltreatment, expressed in different terms. However, the expe-
riences and emotions of children, parents, and survivors came more prom-
inently and publicly to the fore from the 1960s. A key point in the modern
history of child abuse was the emergence of concerns around ‘cruelty to
children’ in North America and Western Europe in the 1870s and 1880s,
which provided a significant label with which to criticise the maltreatment
of children.8 In Britain, the Prevention of Cruelty to, and Protection of,
Children Act (1889) criminalised cruelty against children, which was
defined as the behaviour of a guardian who ‘wilfully ill-treats, neglects,
abandons, or exposes such child … in a manner likely to cause such child
unnecessary suffering, or injury to its health’.9 Harry Hendrick has written
that this act created a ‘new interventionist relationship between parents
and the state’, because for the first time police were allowed to enter family
homes to arrest parents for ill-treatment.10 Many significant voluntary
organisations were also established in the Victorian era—the National
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children (NSPCC) (1884), Dr
Barnardos’ Homes (1866), the Church of England Central Society for
Providing Homes for Waifs and Strays (1881), and the Children’s Home
(1869).11 George Behlmer has persuasively argued that the NSPCC in
particular constructed a ‘new moral vision’ in this period, in which the
interests of the child were placed above those of the parent.12
Perpetrators of child sexual abuse were not always punished in the
Victorian period, despite emergent concerns often framed around ‘cruelty
to children’. Drawing on the records of 1146 sexual assault cases tried in
Yorkshire and Middlesex between 1830 and 1910, Louise Jackson has
demonstrated that even when cases of sexual abuse were brought to the
courts, usually as ‘indecent assault’, 31 per cent of defendants were acquit-
ted, and punishments were often very lenient.13 Jackson writes that court
members ‘found it very difficult to believe that a man who was a father
could ever have committed acts of brutality’.14 At the same time, she also
argues that ‘Judges and juries were of the opinion that sexual abuse by a
father … was a particularly serious offence.’15 Linda Pollock has studied
newspaper reports around court cases between 1785 and 1860 and simi-
larly argues that parents who abused their offspring were seen as ‘unnatu-
ral’, ‘horrific’, and ‘barbaric’.16
4 J. CRANE

Adrian Bingham, Lucy Delap, Louise Jackson, and Louise Settle have
persuasively argued that the 1920s was another ‘time of high visibility and
concern over child sexual abuse’, brought forward by the campaigning of
newly enfranchised female voters and female Members of Parliament.17
The historians explain that the 1925 Departmental Committee on Sexual
Offences Against Young People made numerous proposals in this context,
calling for: the abolishment of ‘reasonable belief’ that a girl was over the
age of 16 as a legal defence; the provision of a separate waiting room for
young witnesses; and an institutional response exceeding ‘ignorance, care-
lessness and indifference’.18 Again, however, such concerns did not neces-
sarily lead to change, and these measures were not broadly implemented.19
In general, the Committee assumed that ‘experts’—professionals, politi-
cians, policy-makers, lobbyists—would speak on behalf of victims and sur-
vivors, rather than inviting them to provide direct testimony, although
three mothers from Edinburgh whose children had been abused did tes-
tify, criticising the police and criminal justice system.20
Later in the interwar period, concerns about child abuse faded once
again. The reasons for the falling away of concerns in this period were
multiple: voluntary sector focus was on reconstruction; the woman’s
movement in part fractured following the granting of universal suffrage;
and the NSPCC became less campaign-oriented following administrative
changes.21 These reasons for the diminishing of concerns foregrounded
many of the significant elements that later revived public, media, and
political interest in child protection from the mid-1960s until 2000.
Professional interests, as in earlier periods, remained significant. Notably,
the first chapter of this book examines how paediatricians and radiologists
shaped early medical debates about ‘the battered child syndrome’ from
the 1940s. These clinicians worked through international networks as
concerns about child abuse developed across Western Europe, North
America, Australia, and New Zealand in the late twentieth century.22
Likewise, groups of parents and survivors mobilised both in Britain and
in America over this period; mediating, criticising, and reshaping pro-
fessional debate.23 While paying brief attention to these international
relationships, the book focuses primarily on how such debates were
realised in distinctly British contexts, with a particular focus on England.
In the English setting, cultural visions of family privacy and the ‘stiff
upper lip’, as well as distinct contexts of state welfare provision, inflected
discussion.24
 INTRODUCTION 5

As in the 1920s, the work of feminists was also significant in raising

public and political awareness of child abuse in the late twentieth century,
and the second-wave feminist movement drew public attention to family
violence and established shelters to care for affected women and children.
Notably, second-wave feminists also highlighted the significance of focus-
ing on emotion and experience as forms of expertise, particularly by
emphasising the importance of listening to women’s stories and making
the personal political. In the documentary Scream Quietly or the Neighbours
Will Hear (1974), based on Erin Pizzey’s ground breaking book, women
housed at Chiswick Women’s Aid refuge spoke openly about their experi-
ences of abuse, their fears, the effects on their confidence, and the responses
of their children.25 Later accounts—for example, by Louise Armstrong—
continued to explore and make public childhood experiences of abuse,
and to encourage others to do the same.26 While many second-wave femi-
nists sought to entwine campaigning around violence against women and
children, others acknowledged that social policy and media coverage typi-
cally treated these issues separately.27 Nonetheless, while focusing on cam-
paigning led by children, concerned parents, and survivors, this book also
traces moments in which this campaigning interacted with feminist work,
particularly in terms of criticising structural inequalities and professional
hierarchies.
While professional and feminist voices remained important in post-­
1960s debates, the concern of the late twentieth century was also distinc-
tive in two key ways, both of which are the focus of this book. First, this
period was distinctive in the extent to which direct campaigning by chil-
dren, parents, and survivors became important. The new focus on the
experiences and emotions of those affected by child abuse extended
beyond feminist activism alone, and indeed campaign groups in this area
were established by a variety of families and individuals, many of whom
had no connections with the feminist movement. Campaigners acted in
collaboration and tension with the work of long-standing professions—
relying on statutory agencies but also providing self-help groups, for
example. Importantly, children, parents, and survivors both relied on and
criticised the ability of professional categorisations to explain their per-
sonal experiences.28 The term ‘survivor’—which this book uses to echo
contemporary accounts—has been adopted by voluntary groups. While
such groups, echoing the psychiatric survivor movement, used the term to
capture strength and resilience, they also argued that it did not capture the
full complexity of lived experience.29
6 J. CRANE

The ability of these voluntary groups to offer such critique and to con-
struct new networks was entwined with the second key development of
the post-1960s moment: the increasing interest of media outlets in repre-
senting the experiences and emotions of children, parents, and survivors.
Newspapers have a long history of producing exposes around child pro-
tection, dating back to the report ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern
Babylon’ published in the Pall Mall Gazette in 1885.30 Yet media interest
in child protection reached new levels from 1960. Focus was often on
specific cases, such as that of Maria Colwell, a seven-year-old who was
beaten and starved to death by her stepfather in 1973, and the Cleveland
scandal of 1987, in which two Middlesbrough doctors removed 121 chil-
dren from their parents during routine paediatric check-ups, citing medi-
cal evidence of sexual abuse.31 Media explorations became of great length
and detail, presented in sensationalist terms, looking to make inner dynam-
ics of family life or children’s experiences public.
Child Protection in England thus focuses on activism by or on behalf of
children, parents, and survivors, often enacted in collaboration with new
media and through voluntary organisations. The book demonstrates that
this activism has been influential in shaping public responses to child
protection, and in mediating and reshaping the work of clinicians, social
work, and policy—which have been central to previous historical accounts.
This activism—taken ‘from below’—has represented a broader form of
challenge to long-standing professions, and to thinking about how and
why expertise has been constructed and determined in late twentieth-cen-
tury Britain. The period on which this book focuses, from 1960 until
2000, was one in which medical, social, and political conceptions of child
protection shifted relatively rapidly. Broadly, over this period, conceptions
of abuse shifted from being visualised as a ‘medical’ to a ‘social problem’;
from focus on the family home to ‘stranger danger’ and back to the family;
and in terms of broadening in focus from the physical to the sexual to the
emotional.32 Accounts offered by children, parents, and survivors them-
selves, however, and increased attention paid to their emotions and experi-
ences, shaped and added complexity to these changes. Children, parents,
and survivors became ‘expert’ because of their ability to represent, chan-
nel, construct, and argue for the validity of experiential and emotional
expertise—forms of knowledge which rapidly emerged and became ­public,
and which are crucial to understanding the changing social, cultural, and
political contexts of late twentieth-century Britain.
Another random document with
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 We landed near a row of neat houses, having trees planted in
front, which conduced, in this sultry climate, to afford an agreeable
shelter from the fervour of the sun: these buildings were principally
occupied as stores and offices by the merchants. The streets of
Batavia run for the most part in a north and south direction; are kept
in neat order, regularly watered, and planted with rows of trees in
the Dutch style; these formerly adorned the banks of canals, which
intersected the streets, rendering the city as pestilential a place as
could be met with between the tropics. During the brief period the
island was under the British government, the canals were filled up;
the main stream of the “Grand River,” and its tributaries, alone
remaining.
The houses in the city are spacious, but only used as offices and
stores by merchants and others, on account of the insalubrity of the
city during the night; having concluded business by four or five
o’clock, p.m. they drive to their residences in the vicinity. On the
afternoon of my arrival I drove out with Mr. Vidal, (a mercantile
gentleman, resident in Batavia,) to Moolenfleet, about two miles
from the city, passing on the road some mansions in the usual style
of Dutch architecture, having gardens before them filled with various
flowering shrubs and plants, among which the Hibiscus rosa
chinensis, Poinciana pulcherrima, and Ixora, in full blossom, were
conspicuous from the brilliancy of their colours.
We arrived at a tavern kept by a Monsieur Choulan, pleasantly
situated at this place, but it is ill-conducted, (although the best and
most respectable,) the proprietor having realized a fortune, does not
consider it requisite to devote any further attention on those by
whom he acquired it. Our after dinner display disappointed me, from
having heard and read so much of the delicious fruits of Batavia,
both for flavour and variety; the dessert was miserable; the
Rambutan (fruit of the Nephelium echinatum) or hairy fruit, (Rambut
signifying hairy,) and some Mangoosteens,[131] were good; the
oranges were insipid; and the “Sour-sop” (introduced from the West
Indies) was the best fruit upon the table; indeed, I may observe with
truth, that I hardly tasted a good fruit during my stay at Batavia,
except the Pine-apple and Mangoosteen; but it seems that fruits
arrive at perfection in particular districts of the Island of Java; there
being one in which Mangoosteens abound; at another, where the
land is cool and elevated, pears, apples, and strawberries are
produced: every kind is cultivated about Batavia, but none
(excepting the pine-apple) attain excellence.
The little Java ponies excited my attention, but these beautiful
animals cannot endure much fatigue; they are purchased from thirty
to one hundred and fifty Java rupees each; and if exported there is
an export duty of nearly two pounds each: the residents are obliged
to keep several of these animals, as there are always some
incapable of duty from sickness. The Javanese consider that by
keeping a species of monkey in the stable, the horses will not get
sick, and should they become indisposed, Jacko possesses powers to
cure them; the more valuable the monkey employed for the
purpose, the more readily will the horses be cured, or the better will
they be preserved in health. The Lampong monkey (brought from
the Lampong Islands) is highly esteemed for this purpose by the
superstitious Javanese for its qualities as a veterinary doctor.
A lad at one residence, who had charge of the horses, threatened
to leave his master’s service, on some of the horses getting sick,
unless a monkey was procured for the stable; one of the Lampong
kind was consequently purchased to attend upon the sick
quadrupeds. Soon after the monkey had been in attendance, the
sick horses began to recover, and in a short time were declared fit
for duty; thus proving (whatever our grooms may think on the
subject) that a monkey of the veterinary doctor species is an
invaluable appendage to a stud of horses, and ought to be imported
and bred by the Zoological Society for this express purpose.
An accident, however, occurred shortly after the monkey had
taken up his residence in the stable, which placed him on the sick
list, and made him a subject of surgical care. Being tired of driving
away the flies which tormented his patients, he sought for variety,
and observing, in the horses’ tails, some grey hairs mingled with the
black, to prevent the animals looking older than they really were, he
began in the kindest manner to pluck them out. A kick, which laid
poor Jacko prostrate at a distance, with a swollen physiognomy and
fractured fore-arm, was the ungracious return made for this piece of
service, thus reversing the old saying of “one good turn deserves
another.”[132]
After dinner we drove round the vicinity, passed Weltervreden,
[133] where are the barracks for the troops; the situation is
considered salubrious. There is also a fine building at this place,
used as the state-rooms for the governor, and some part of it for
government offices; opposite to this building, in the centre of the
square, is a small column surmounted by a lion, erected in
commemoration of the battle of Waterloo. I was much gratified
during the drive with the neat appearance of the houses, most of
which were surrounded by gardens, rendered both brilliant and
fragrant, by tropical trees and shrubs, gay with the vivid colouring
imparted by their blossoms; and as evening closed, the powerful and
delicious odour of the tube-rose (which bears the appellation of
“Intriguer of the night” among the Malays) communicated to us the
information that those simple white liliaceous flowers were growing
not far distant.[134]
In a few of the gardens I remarked that curious, large herbaceous
plant, called the “Traveller’s-tree;” (from a refreshing stream of
limpid water gushing out from the stem when cut;) it is rare, and not
indigenous, I understand, to Java. I recollect first seeing this tree at
the Mauritius, and think it was mentioned as having been brought
from Madagascar. The native houses in the vicinity of Batavia are
almost concealed by the luxuriant foliage of Cocoa-nut, Banana,
Jack, and other tropical trees. A neat building we passed, I was
informed, was the “English church,” and is under the direction of the
Rev. Mr. Medhurst. After extending our drive round the “Kœnig,” or
“King’s Plain,” we returned to our hotel.
 In the billiard-room, I remarked a Javanese of diminutive stature,
but stoutly formed, with a noble intellectual head; his manner was
free and independent, but at the same time pleasing; he was
accompanied by a young lad, (his brother-in-law.) This individual
turned out to be no other than the celebrated chief Santot, or (as at
present known by his assumed name) Ali Bassa; he was a leader of
the rebellious party during the late insurrections, under Diepo
Nagoro, and by going over to the Dutch, was the means of bringing
the late Javanese war to a favourable issue; since that time he has
held the rank of colonel in the Dutch service, with the command of
eight hundred native troops, and had recently been sent on the
expedition to Padang, in Sumatra, where the Dutch are making
strenuous efforts to conquer and oppress the natives.
Santot (or Panjerang Ali Bassa Pranredo Dudjo) was attired in
white trowsers, waistcoat, and a coat of blue cloth with gilt buttons;
he wore also a turban, in the usual Javanese style; his brother-in-law
was dressed in a blue cloth jacket and trowsers. The intellectual
head, and intelligent countenance of Santot would induce one to
regard him as a second Napoleon.
As I have just stated, he was one of the leaders in the late
rebellion, and made strenuous exertions to expel the oppressors of
his country: this was nearly effected, when he attacked a Monsieur
de l’Eau,[135] then a lieutenant commanding a small fortress in the
interior of Java, with a small garrison of only twenty European
soldiers, but who were well supplied with arms and ammunition. Ali
Bassa made the attack with a strong force, but, after losing fifty
men, he forwarded a message to Lieutenant de l’Eau, to the effect,
that if he would come alone to him, he would make conditions to
surrender himself to the Dutch government; Lieutenant de l’Eau,
with some confidence, ventured. On being introduced, Ali Bassa,
who was seated on a mat, desired the lieutenant to sit down by him;
and the interview terminated by Santot surrendering to him, on
condition that he should not be beheaded. Having entered the Dutch
service, he was sent, with the regiment of native troops under his
command, to the seat of war in the island of Sumatra. The cause of
his return to Batavia was a suspicion entertained by the resident at
Padang, of his being in secret correspondence with the enemy, and
the following stratagem was practised to convey him as a prisoner to
Batavia.
Santot was stationed at some distance from Padang, with about
eight hundred Javanese troops; and because he was not attacked by
the natives at the time of the massacre, the Dutch at Padang
suspected he must have had some knowledge of the preconcerted
plan to destroy the European force. The resident, afraid to make any
open charge against him, requested he would proceed to Java, at
the urgent solicitations of the governor-general, to collect a large
force, and return to conquer Sumatra. Upon this representation he
was induced to embark on board the government cruiser “Circe:” on
landing at Batavia he was received by the resident and a guard of
cavalry, and proceeded in the governor’s carriage, as he naturally
supposed, to have an interview with his excellency; but instead of it,
he was conveyed to the common gaol, and there confined in a
dungeon, ignorant even of the charges against him; and none of his
friends were permitted to visit him:—there he remained for several
days on suspicion. He was liberated on its being represented to the
governor-general that the resident of Padang was misinformed. It is
said he is to return to Sumatra.
He seemed to enjoy the game of billiards, and was an expert
player. His brother-in-law, who was second in command of the
regiment, was at one time near falling a victim to the strict discipline
Santot maintained in his army during the rebellion. Having issued
orders against cock-fighting and every other species of gambling, on
going unexpectedly round the camp, he found his brother-in-law
with some other officers thus engaged: he ordered them out to be
shot; three were instantly killed, and the brother-in-law was saved
by the ball carrying away his turban, and producing a slight scalp
wound, after which Santot pardoned him. Santot is a graceful
horseman. The troops under his command consist of cavalry and
infantry; the former are described as being a fine body of troops;
they are dressed in the Moorish costume, and armed with lances,
sabres, carbines, and pistols. His army consisted of five thousand
men.
Santot is not of noble family, although by his talents he has
elevated himself to the rank of a prince of Java. He now holds the
station and receives the pay of a colonel in the Dutch service. I saw
some of his infantry, who were fine looking soldiers, attired in green
turbans, blue uniform jacket and trowsers, and handkerchiefs round
their waists.
The exactions of the Dutch government upon the natives have
increased rather than diminished, in spite of all the lessons they
have received; and the present system, if left unaltered, will
eventually cause the loss of Java, if not the whole of their
settlements in the eastern islands. At the present time much
discontent prevails at Macassar and other places, which, together
with the attempts at aggrandizement in Sumatra, where a severer
opposition is experienced than could ever have been expected,
throws enough upon their hands in this part of the world; and when
the news arrived of the late rupture in Holland, it was fully expected
by the Javanese that the English would take the island; and the
arrival in the roads of a British man-of-war (the Curaçoa) was almost
hailed by them as a confirmation of the fact.
The government trembled for Java when the news of war in
Europe arrived; and the appearance of our men-of-war, the
Magicienne, Wolf, &c. did not tend to allay their apprehensions. The
Dutch vessels were sent off to Sourabaya, and remained there under
the protection of the sloops of war, Helden and Amphitrite; so there
was hardly a single Dutch vessel remaining in Batavia roads, the
English and American flags almost alone waving. The government
were engaged in erecting two turf batteries on the banks a short
distance down the river, and planted cannon upon them, and
mercantile affairs were almost suspended. It was expected that an
embargo would have been laid by the Dutch on our ships in Batavia
roads; but an order issued on this subject had reference only to their
own vessels. The Calcutta and other papers were at this time filled
with false and absurd statements relating to the Dutch force at
Batavia, and seemed most eager to point out, even in the event of
hostilities, in what manner they could most easily invade British
property.[136]
In consequence of the present unsettled state of Holland, freights
were difficult to be procured, although a large quantity of produce
remained for shipment; but the owners were afraid to ship until
news of a more settled state of European affairs arrived. Flour was
scarce, and maintained a high price at Batavia. Malay boatmen are
employed for ships’ boats in preference to the crew of the vessels,
as the boat has to be tracked up the river, by which the Europeans
would suffer much exposure to the sun. The natives, thus employed,
are also spies of the custom-house, and are ever on the watch,
when unsuspected, and ready to convey information of any attempt
to evade the duties.
At the residence of Mr. Davies I had an opportunity of seeing a
living specimen of the orang-utan, which had been brought from
Banjarmassing, on the south coast of Borneo. The animal was a
male, and measured two feet four inches in height, being the first
specimen I had seen alive. I was much pleased with its intellectual
appearance as compared with others of the monkey tribe. He was
seen to some disadvantage, as he was suffering from a severe cold;
and not being found in the usual haunt, was at last discovered in
one of the beds, enveloped in a sheet. When we uncovered him, he
regarded us with a piteous countenance, as if to inform us he was
indisposed,—his eyes were suffused with tears, cough, and skin very
hot and dry, with a pulse at one hundred and twenty. (What is the
natural standard of the healthy pulse in this animal?) He was
evidently most desirous of being wrapped up, and did not care to be
caressed by strangers, but turned his back upon them, hiding his
head and face. His usual place of repose was on a mat in the
verandah, but feeling ill, he thought he might claim greater
indulgence, so took possession of one of the beds. The large
anterior mass of brain gave a high degree of intelligence to the
animal’s countenance, although the face had not so much of the
human character as is seen in the Simia syndactyla, or Ungka ape;
but, concealing the lower portion of the countenance, the upper part
and eyes beam with an intelligent expression. I observe it can thrust
forward the lips in imitation of the action of kissing, but cannot give
the impulse to them: neither does it lap liquid when in the act of
drinking. When running about it often exercises its destructive
propensity by destroying trees in the gardens of the houses in the
vicinity; and some of the owners not evincing much partiality to the
monkey tribe, threatened to shoot the aggressor; so, to save the life
of the animal, a large bamboo cage was constructed, in which he
was confined, but, born to freedom, he screamed with rage on being
placed in it, and, exerting his muscular power, soon demolished the
cage, and was then as quiet as before, being perfectly docile when
at liberty, but savage under restraint.
He sometimes made himself a nest in a large tree near the house,
and, watching when any one approached with fruit or eggs, would
come down and endeavour to steal them. He is fond of coffee, and
runs eagerly after the servants to procure it. The natives are very
fond of the animal, and it appears more attached to them than to
Europeans. Not being found in Java, it is regarded as a great
curiosity; the natives assigning to it a superior degree of intelligence.
The animal, having been presented to the commander of a ship to
take to Europe, the servants declared, that it had overheard the
conversation of its being about to migrate, and always appeared
melancholy whenever this gentleman visited the house; adding also,
that it was the cause of its present illness.
The engraving of this animal, in Dr. Abel’s work on China, was
immediately recognized by the natives; and his interesting account
accords with the generally observed habits. Excepting in intellectual
development, I do not consider the orang-utan so closely resembles
the human species as the Hylobates syndactyla, or Ungka ape,
which walks more erect; and, in its internal anatomy, is more closely
allied to the human race.
 Being desirous of gaining some information respecting the usual
height these animals attain, I consulted several persons who had
visited Borneo, one of whom had been for some time a prisoner in
the interior: the greatest elevation the animal had been seen was
four feet three or four inches; at first it was stated to be eight feet,
but, on further explanation, it was found the animal had been
measured with the arms elevated above the head, which of course
made a material difference. Its most usual height is from two and a
half to three feet, when erect. These animals can be procured with
facility, at Borneo, for one or two dollars; but, if not procured young,
little dependence can be placed on their surviving, as they become
so strongly attached to their masters, that a separation will cause
them to pine and die. The animal at Mr. Davis’s improved in health in
a few days, but never evinced any inclination to cultivate the
acquaintance of strangers; he was much attached to a Malay female,
and a little Malay boy, who resided in the same house with him, and
the latter was his principal playmate.
Society in Batavia is a dead letter; bachelors smoking and drinking
parties are, in many instances, common; ruining the health, and
occasioning the death of many, particularly strangers. The cause of
frequent mortality is, in many instances, attributed to climate, that
should be laid to the charge of imprudence. From the little I saw of
the Batavian ladies, when returning from church in their gay
equipages, they were not particularly attractive; the majority were
tinged with a dark hue, probably sun-burnt; few can talk any
language but Javanese and Dutch; so there would be some difficulty
for a stranger to judge of their intellectual powers. Bonnets not
being fashionable in this country, an excellent view was afforded of
their attractions. Some had four horses to their chariots, and a
number of black servants perched up behind, according to the
wealth or rank of the personage.
The Chinese are the principal artificers of the place, the Javanese
preferring a military life; the Chinese are also the cultivators of the
plantations and manufacturers of sugar, &c. Many of them may now
be seen driving about in their carriages, possessed of great wealth,
and owners of large estates, who arrived not many years since,
pennyless; several large estates on the island are also owned by
British subjects resident in England, having agents or
superintendents here to look after them.
Flowers, of delicious fragrance, are sold about the streets, to
adorn the dark forms of the Javanese females, or lavish their
fragrance upon the fairer Batavians, who are extravagantly fond of
this article of luxury.
The animals of Java are very numerous, the island being rich in
zoological and botanical productions; the small or Java rhinoceros is
numerous about Ceram, in the district of Bantam; it is often shot,
but all endeavours to procure living specimens have as yet failed.
Tigers are also numerous, and consist of three species, the Matchan
Itum, or black tiger; the Matchan Toetoel, or leopard; and the
Matchan Loreng, or royal striped tiger.
There are two species of doves seen in great numbers about the
habitations of the Javanese; one being small, the other of a delicate
cream colour, with a narrow black semicircular mark about the neck.
The small species (which is most esteemed) is called “Perkutut” by
the Javanese, and the larger one “Puter.” Conversing with a Javanese
about them, he appeared delighted to give me some account of his
pets; seeing them attended with so much care I inquired the reason
of their being such favourites, in preference to birds of far more
beautiful plumage, so abundant on this magnificent and fertile
island? In answer to my inquiry he informed me, that, “when these
birds are kept about the house, it will not be destroyed by fire, or be
liable to the depredations of thieves:” as an instance of their having
this power, should I be sceptical on the subject, he gravely assured
me that during the heavy rains in Feb. 1832, when most of the
houses were inundated, one was preserved from the flood by this
bird being within, the water flowed round the habitation, but did not
enter!
When the birds are kept in a state of confinement, it is said by the
Javanese, that they pass small green stones, sometimes one every
week, and continuing for one or two years; these stones are much
esteemed, valued as high as thirty and forty rupees each, and are
set in rings, &c. The stones, according to native information, are
always passed upon a Friday; (which is the Javanese Sunday;) some
set as high a value upon their birds as fifty and one hundred rupees
each. The natives never eat them; a European, at one time, shot
some, and gave them to his Javanese servant to eat, not being
aware of their veneration for them, but he would not touch them.
Every Friday they take the birds out of the cages, wash them in rice-
water, at the same time administering some small pills, (composed
of such a multiplicity of medicinal ingredients, that my Javanese
informant said, it would take too long a time to give me the names
of the whole,) otherwise the birds would not live; for if they were
not washed, and did not take the physic, they would have small
white worms in the corner of the eyes and in the nostrils, which
would soon destroy them.
“Yesterday,” (Friday,) said my amusing Malay informant, “I washed
this bird, (the one then before us,) and gave him his physic.” He was
so highly pleased at my taking an interest in his birds, that he
presented me with a pair of the cream-coloured doves, which, he
observed, “Would speak like a clock, every hour.”[137] The smaller
species was the one, however, possessed of the preserving qualities
against fire and flood. He apologized for not making me a present of
it, and gave, in my opinion, the best of reasons that a married man
could, which was—“his wife would not let him part with it.”
I, however, so pleased my Malay friend, that he regretted I was
about to leave Batavia so soon, as he would otherwise have shown
me some more curiosities, and given me plenty of information on
Javanese things, (probably, I thought, of a similar stamp to the
foregoing, that is, more amusing than instructive). He brought me a
dried specimen of the Hippocampus, carefully wrapped in paper; it
was named Ecan Kudu, or horse-fish, (Ecan, signifying a fish, and
Kudu, horse,) by the Malays, from its being regarded by them as an
excellent medicine for horses; they place it (without being pounded,
or otherwise prepared) in the water, the horses drink, and consider it
an excellent tonic for them.
I saw at Batavia a species of Gibbon, which is indigenous to Java,
and had just been purchased, it was the Pithecus leuciscus, Desm.,
or Simia leucisca, Schreb. The natives call it the white ape, or Woa,
woa, puteh; the fur being of a light greyish colour; face and ears,
black; no tail; long arms; and a prehensile power of the feet.
The Sumpitan, or blow-pipe, is an instrument upwards of six feet
long; with which the Javanese propel small clay pellets from the
mouth with such force as to kill birds and other animals; they are
likewise used by the Javanese in warfare, to shoot the small
poisoned arrows, (damhák,) which are about a foot in length, armed
at one extremity with pith, and are propelled with surprising
accuracy of aim.
 CHAPTER XIX.
Leave Batavia and anchor off Hoorn Island—Islands about the Bengal
Passage—Gingiong roads—Lofty aspect of the land—The coast—The
golden mountain—Island of Sumatra—Aspect of the country—The
lover’s leap—Village of Pedir—Ships of the Acheenese Rajah—Visit to
the Rajah—Dense vegetation—Buffaloes—Ba Assan trees—Hall of
reception—Interview with his Highness—Commercial negociations—
Curiosity of the natives—The Areka or Betel-nut—Flowering shrubs
and plants—Rice-planting—Return to the ship—A prohibition.

At daylight, on the 2nd of June, I left Batavia for the Pedir Coast,
on the north-east part of the large island of Sumatra; and, about
noon, it being calm, anchored off Hoorn Island, in the Great
Channel. This island is a mere reef, or sand-bank, with trees of some
elevation upon it, which impart a higher aspect to it than on landing
it is in reality found to possess. The passage, by the western coast
of Sumatra, was tedious; light and variable winds and calms being
very often experienced, although we kept some hundred of miles
from the coast;[138] it was, therefore, not until the morning of the
28th of June, that elevated land was seen, being the islands about
the “Bengal Passage,” which we entered about half past ten o’clock,
a.m., having on one side the lofty wooded island of “Pulo

Brasse,”[139] and “Pulo Nancie,” and opposite to them, the elevated

island, rich in vegetation, of “Pulo Way.” “Pulo Rondo” was also
visible in the distance.
Our progress through the passage was but slow, with a moderate
south wind; and a strong westerly current considerably impeded the
vessel. On entering further in the passage, we became more under
the influence of the high land, and the breeze diminished. The
weather was showery and unsettled, and the ship anchored in the
evening in “Gingiong roads,” in eleven fathoms, about five or six
miles distant from the wooded coast.
 The land had a lofty aspect, abounding in profuse vegetation, and
was possessed of much romantic and picturesque beauty. Since we
entered the passage, and proceeded along the coast, the mountains
rose in peaked and various fantastic groups, forming the back view
of the landscape; the low land, near the beach, was covered with
timber; hills rose gradually one beyond another, terminated by lofty
mountains, towering in the distance; the whole covered by a dense
vegetation. At this time, the view was occasionally impeded by fleecy
clouds passing over, giving afterwards an increased, animated
appearance to the scene, by the refreshing showers they produced.
At some distance from the main land, straggling rocks were
sometimes seen, either rising solitary, or in clusters from the ocean’s
depths; some covered with a scanty vegetation, whilst the bare
summits and declivities of others had a volcanic character: around
their bases, the breakers dashed furiously, and the white foam raged
against those rugged sides, which had stood the violence of a
thousand tempests, serving as a place of refuge for boobies, tropic,
and other oceanic birds, which here congregate and rear their
progeny, free from molestation.
The coast, as we proceeded, maintained its picturesque character,
the high land being clothed with timber, and the low coast trending
between the more elevated parts, of a somewhat similar character to
some portions of the island of Java and other islands of the Indian
Archipelago, was profusely covered with vegetation. On “Pulo Way,”
several clear, and apparently cultivated patches of land were visible,
and smoke of fires; but no habitations could be perceived. Most of
the island was a dense jungle, seeming only calculated as a refuge
for wild animals in the midst of its wilderness of luxuriant vegetation.
The coast off which we had anchored this evening, was, for the
most part, low; except the land being elevated as it rose from the
“Point Pedro,” but it was not of such a verdant character as the
mountainous coast we had previously passed during the day. The
low land, however, abounded in trees; among which, the cocoa-nut
palm was both numerous and conspicuous.
 The following morning, at sunrise, the atmosphere was delightfully
cool and refreshing; and the land-breeze brought off with it a
delicious fragrance. At daylight, we weighed, passed “Point Pedro,”
and then the vessel sailed at a distance only of three miles from the
shore, in from twelve to fourteen fathoms water, which afforded an
excellent view of the varying features of the Acheenese coast, as we
proceeded. During the early part of the morning, the towering,
peaked summit of the “Golden Mountain” was visible and perfectly
clear; but as the day advanced, it became capped with clouds: it
was elevated far above the mountains in the vicinity, and seems
situated some distance inland. The west side of the mountain was
clothed with wood to the summit, and exhibits nothing in its aspect
from which the name of “Golden” could be supposed to be derived;
but, as the Malays term it the “Gonnong Mas,” or Golden Mountain,
it has probably obtained the appellation from them on account of
gold having been found upon it; and the English name is merely a
translation of the Malay. The eastern side of the mountain has a
similar densely wooded appearance from the base to the summit, as
just mentioned of the western.
The morning was fine and clear; and as we sailed along the high
picturesque coast of this portion (north-east) of the beautiful island
of Sumatra, with light and variable winds from west-south-west to
north-west, it was extremely agreeable; but, at the same time often
caused me to feel regret that I could not revel amidst the botanical
and other natural productions the coast and adjacent hills seemed to
produce in profusion. Besides the elevated “Golden Mountain,” there
were many of great height, some of a saddle form, and the crateric
summits of others imparted additional importance to the beautiful
romantic scenery around them.
The hills became less wooded as we advanced to the eastward,
and lost much of their tropical character. This peculiar feature of the
country was, however, occasionally resumed—a sandy beach, upon
which large trees were scattered, with a few thatched habitations of
the natives, peeping from the dense foliage of the trees which grew
about, with the cocoa-nut palms waving their feathered branches
above them—this again gave the tropical character to our view; but
the receding hills terminating in mountainous country, now but thinly
covered with vegetation, varied the landscape, and it possessed little
to remind the stranger of inter-tropical scenery.
It was soon after noonday, when we passed the bluff point,
named in the charts, the “Lover’s Leap,” and the coast beyond
maintained, for some distance, similar features to that we had
passed, excepting some portions which had an increase of
picturesque beauty: the receding hills were not so elevated; white
cliffs, bare of shrubs or any kind of vegetation, rose almost
perpendicularly from the beach about the “Lover’s Leap;” but still
further eastward, the coast again abounded in trees. Hills rose above
hills, having, in part, a cleared appearance; but, in general,
vegetation was most abundant. Lofty mountains formed the distant
prospect; above the whole of which, the “Golden Mountain” reared
its peaked summit, terminating the rich and varied landscape in an
extremely beautiful manner.
From the few houses and canoes seen about this part of the
coast, there seems to be a paucity of inhabitants, and no cultivation
of the land was visible. The natives, however, may live in the fertile
valleys, a short distance from the sea-coast, and concealed from our
view. The wind and current being adverse, it was impossible for the
ship to make any progress, and we therefore anchored about seven
p.m. in twelve fathoms, a few miles to the eastward of the “Lover’s
Leap.”
The next day we proceeded along the coast, the features of which
were similar to that before described; but beyond “Pedir Point,” the
country assumed a more populous and cultivated appearance:
cocoa-palms abounded on the beach; thatched houses of the natives
were numerous, and canoes and larger boats were busily fishing;
the whole aspect of the coast was animated and picturesque. From
light winds and calms, and strong adverse currents, we were often
obliged to anchor, and did not reach the anchorage off the village of
Pedir until the afternoon of the subsequent day (the 1st of July).
 The situation of “Pedir” is an extensive, fertile flat, interspersed
with low verdant hills, and the distance terminating in lofty
mountains, covered most profusely with vegetation. The village of
“Pedir” (from which some extent of coast, to the eastward, has been
named by Europeans the “Pedir Coast”) is situated a short distance
up a small and narrow river: the residence of the rajah, and a
portion of the village, could be distinguished from the shipping in the
roadstead. The plain through which the river flows, and upon the
banks of which the village of Pedir is situated, is an extensive flat, or,
for the most part, a series of marshes abounding in rice plantations,
and extending to some distance inland, apparently terminated by a
dense jungle and ranges of mountains towering one above the
other; to the westward it becomes hilly, trending out towards “Pedir
Point;” and to the eastward terminates in lofty mountains, at some
distance. This description is given from the appearance of the
country as seen from the anchorage. The whole line of coast has a
beautiful and luxuriant character, abounding in cocoa-nut, areka, and
other palms; and beneath the trees the thatched roofs of native
houses are occasionally seen.
Some vessels, belonging to the rajah of Acheen, were at anchor
off “Pedir;” and others, having English colours flying, off the villages
further to the eastward. The ships belonging to the Acheenese rajah
were designated “men of war;” but a “grab,” among the number,
was the only one originally the property of his highness, for it had
just conquered the barque, at whose peak the Acheenese colours
waved, but which had been the property of the rajah of Trumong,
who resided on the west coast of Sumatra, and with whom the
Acheenese monarch was at war: the remaining one under the
Acheenese flag, was an English brig, of Penang, last from the
Maldive Islands, with a cargo of dried fish: she was seized for
trading in arms and ammunition with a rajah on the coast, who was
at the time hostile to the king of Acheen. I shall have occasion to
return to the latter affair at another part of this work.
The vessels were rigged in the European style, appeared of
English build, and carried guns like merchant ships. They hoisted a
huge, broad, red pennant, and the Acheenese ensign, the field of
which was red, the central ornaments of a white colour.
Soon after we anchored, an old moorman came off to the ship,
from the rajah, and arrangements were made to accompany him on
shore the next morning to pay our respects to his highness.
On the morning of the following day, I accompanied Mr. Henry
Fearon, (the supercargo), and the commander, on a visit to the
shore, to have an interview with the rajah; one of his attendants
having previously been on board, bearing a multitude of salaams
from his highness, and intimating that he would be happy to receive
the gentlemen arrived in the ship. At the entrance of the river, we
crossed the bar, upon which a surf is continually breaking, more
violently at low water, or when the sea breeze blows fresh, than at
high water.[140] At this time there was comparatively but little surf,
so we passed without getting wet. We then entered the small
winding river, which, although deep at some parts, suddenly shoaled
at others, except the channel was kept, which usually had a
sufficient draught of water for light boats; but an inexperienced
person had better have a native to pilot him, which prevents the
annoyance of continually getting the boat perched upon spits and
sand-banks. The course of the river is very serpentine; and after
entering it, the banks are covered with shrubs and plants, forming a
dense vegetation, among which Acanthus ilicifolia, covered by a
profusion of cærulean blossoms and other flowering shrubs, were
numerous, as also the Achrosticum aureum, and other ferns. Native
houses appeared mingled with the graceful, waving bamboo, cocoa
palms, plantains, and other trees.
After proceeding a short distance up the river, we arrived at the
small village of Pedir, which is a collection of thatched Malay
habitations. Herds of buffaloes were refreshing themselves in the
stream, and had a strange appearance when seen with only the
head above water. The natives informed us that alligators were
numerous in the river. We did not observe any during the time we
remained at Pedir; and from the buffaloes not being attacked, it is
probable they are not numerous about the lower part of the river.
After bathing, the buffaloes not being troubled with many of the
projections called hairs, had their hides covered with a thick coating
of blue mud, which preserved them from the attacks of insects.
Those on the banks, both old and young, stood, with their ludicrous
physiognomies, staring at us as we passed them. A number of the
small humpbacked Bengal breed of cattle were also observed
feeding about the plain.
On leaving the ship, arms had been placed in the boat as a
precautionary measure on this coast, where the natives are reported
to be oftentimes unable to distinguish between meum and tuum; but
on landing they were left in the boat, and our Jacks, not having the
fear of the natives, or of a reprimand from their commander, before
their eyes, took a morning’s walk about the village, leaving the boat,
together with our weapons, under charge of a boy, which proved the
precaution was needless, as the arms, reposing at the bottom of the
boat, were in this instance equally as effective as if they had been in
the hands of the men.
After landing, we were conducted through an extensive bazaar,
planted with several shady trees, called Ba, assan, by the natives;
the closeness of their foliage and extending branches affording an
agreeable shelter from the fervour of the sun’s rays: the market
seemed well supplied.
We were conducted from this to the “Hall of Reception” for
strangers, which was a small room, elevated a short distance above
the ground, opened on all sides, with an ornamental projecting roof:
the ascent to it was by a rude bamboo ladder, like an approach to a
hay-loft; but as the rajah ascended by the same staircase, of course
we could not complain. On entering the room, we found some chairs
of European manufacture, standing on four legs, but most of them
minus arms, backs, &c. In these we were requested to seat
ourselves until the rajah arrived. Some coarse mats were also laid
upon the floor in the centre of the room—or perhaps cage would be
a better nomenclature than room, for it was more like the latter than
the former.
We waited patiently the arrival of the rajah for some time,
surrounded and gazed at by several old, grave-looking, bearded
Moormen, who remained silent, as their organs of mastication were
almost incessantly engaged in chewing the “betel,” their teeth being
blackened, and lips become of a brick-red colour, from the use of
this masticatory: it is said that it is a good stomachic, causing the
breath to be always sweet; and the assertion may be correct, for the
breath of natives who are in the habit of chewing the aromatic
compound is agreeable; but the discoloration of the teeth and mouth
caused by its use, gives a disagreeable appearance to those who
habituate themselves to it. Whilst delayed by the rajah, we were
regaled by the pure and refreshing juice from some green cocoa-
nuts: at length his highness arrived.
He was a young man of very dark, but handsomely-formed
features, (darker by two shades than the Malays,) about five feet
five or six inches in height, of slender form, and attired in the usual
native Sarong; a yellow silk Sandalong, or sash, around the waist, in
which a Kris, of handsome manufacture, was placed; a close Baju, or
jacket, with plated buttons in front; upon his head a turban of white
cloth, without any decorations; and gold bangles around his wrists
and ancles: his attendants were almost all Moormen, or natives of
Bengal and Madras; many from the latter countries, and others, of
that extraction, born at this place. The rajah, although born here,
had the appearance of being of Bengal parentage. The grave old
gentlemen around were the principal spokesmen on affairs of
business.
It was the object of Mr. Fearon to purchase a cargo of Areka-
nut[141] for the China market, for which object he had brought
dollars, opium, iron, lead, and steel. Most of the bearded gentlemen
were traders in the Areka-nut; but a tall, thin, elderly, and shrewd
old man, was the principal agent in the transactions between Mr.
Fearon and the rajah, for the latter, like most rajahs, had but little to
say on the affair, and from being young, had merely to approve of
whatever was done. This agent, whom we designated “Minister of
the Board of Trade,” proved to be uncle to the present rajah; this
circumstance accounted for his having so much to do with the
government affairs. After some common-place conversation, the
commercial business was introduced; samples, or musters, of the
quality of the nuts were shown; and an arrangement was entered
into between the parties for the delivery of three thousand peculs in
ten days, at the rate of one and a-half dollars the pecul, iron, steel,
lead, and dollars, being given in exchange, at prices then agreed
upon. This contract was ratified by the old trading minister, placing
the right-hand of the supercargo into that of the rajah, repeating, as
they remained with joined hands, the terms assented to; all
agreements are made in the name of the rajah, and are written and
signed by both parties. They had abundance of opium, as much,
they informed us, as seven hundred chests unsold; it had been
purchased at seven hundred dollars the chest, (the cost price at
Batavia at this time,) but the Areka-nut had been delivered in
exchange, at the rate of one dollar the pecul.[142]
After the commercial affairs had been settled, the rajah, ministers,
and merchants, accompanied us about, and in the vicinity of the
village, followed by a nondescript rabble. My collecting plants and
insects amused some and puzzled others, and all were desirous of
ascertaining for what purpose I required them; whether we had any
flowers in our country? whether they were to feed animals? and the
insects for birds on board the ship? but when at last they were
informed I was a “curer of diseases,” they remained perfectly
satisfied that I collected them for medicinal purposes, and without
making another inquiry on the subject, resumed their almost
perpetual conversation on the Areka or betel-nut. On the way the
rajah gathered a plant, (Chenopodium family?) and giving it to me,
said it was medicinal, and called by the Malays “Gunche, maju,”
(signifying shirt-buttons,) and the name was probably applied to it
from the elevated buds having some resemblance to them. The plant
is used by the natives in the form of decoction, as an internal
remedy for various diseases; and, as far as I could understand them,
was possessed of emetic properties. It is a small plant, and grows
abundantly on the banks of the Paddy fields, and on most of the
waste land about the village.
Among a profusion of other flowering shrubs and plants was the
Cassia occidentalis, (Bandram of the natives,) several species of
Solanum; the pretty Vinca rosea, or rose periwinkle, Datura fastuosa,
the fruit of which the natives told me would cause madness if eaten;
it was named by them Tropungo; several species of Convolvoli; a
species of Senecio, with a number of others, wild and cultivated,
some of which exhaled fragrant odours; and a multitude of
butterflies and other insects, vieing with one another in brilliancy
and harmony of colours, flew about in apparent enjoyment of the
fervent tropical sun, among the profusion of flowers which strewed
the ground. The Jatropha curcas, or Bánawa of the natives, was
planted, as well as the bamboo, for fences; rice-fields were
numerous, but this being the dry season, the fields were dry, and
the harvest collected, the variety of succulent and other plants that
sprung up about them, afforded excellent feeding for the numerous
herds of cattle rambling about.
During the rainy season, which occurs from about November to
nearly the termination of the month of February, the planting of rice
takes place; the fields, for the most part dry at the present time, are
then overflown; the season of the rice harvest usually occurs in
April. The country, although flat, had a pleasing fertile aspect, and
when the vivid green or golden yellow of the rice plantation was
added, its beauty must be still further increased.
The rajah, his followers, and the merchants, appear to be all
Moormen, either natives of, or descendants from, those born in
Hindostan. The bazaar trade appears for the most part also to be
monopolized by them; the Malays seem the tillers of the soil, or
subordinates, in other respects. The Hindostanee natives, or their
descendants, are evidently the conquerors of the coast, and of
course the heads of government are of that race. The rajah made
Mr. Fearon a present of a small bullock, cocoa-nuts, plantains, sugar-
canes, &c., and accepted an invitation to visit the ship the day
following, when it would be requisite, from their professing the
Mahometan creed, that “all pigs should be kept from grunting,” or
getting an afternoon’s liberty.[143] About noon, taking leave of the
rajah and his party, we returned on board.
At this place no canoes came off to the ship with fish, fowls, fruit,
&c., for sale; none but those on business came to the ship, and Mr.
Fearon was advised by the rajah not to allow any to do so. This
appeared strange, as off the other villages to the eastward of Pedir,
goats, fruit, fowls, yams, &c., were brought off for sale; but we
afterwards had good reason for suspecting that some of the rajah’s
followers were desirous of supplying the ship, placing their own
prices on the articles, allowing a per centage to his highness, and
thus contrived to have a prohibition placed on canoes coming
alongside.
 CHAPTER XX.
Visit from the young Rajah—Native weapons—Costume—The “trading
minister” and his boy—Inspection of the ship by the natives—
Population of the Pedir district—Rambles on the coast—King Crabs—
Land crabs—Ova of fish—Soldier crabs—Their food—The Rajah’s
house—Cocoa-nut water—Habitations in the Rajah’s inclosure—The
fort—The bazaar—Banks of the river—Plants—Native fishing—Fruits
—The country farther inland—Vegetation—The Eju Palm—A fine
plain.

On the afternoon of the following day we had the honour of a visit

from the young rajah; he came off in one of the large native boats,
seated upon a platform on the stern, in the oriental fashion. Having
no state-boat he came in this, which was merely one of the usual
cargo, or fishing boats, which are large and spacious, with a small
deck or platform at the after-part. Many of the rowers were attired in
scarlet jackets, some having, and others being deficient in sleeves,
and all seemed to have dressed themselves in their best apparel; all
wore elegant krisses, for the whole of the natives, whether of the
Malay or Hindostanee races, wear the Kris or the Klawang, (a kind of
short sword,) and are seldom or never seen without: the
manufacture of these weapons varies both in the blades and
handles, and all the varieties are designated by distinct native
names; from the form of the blades severe wounds must be caused
by them, and many of the natives wore scars obtained by them in
their private quarrels. The handles were formed of whale’s teeth, or
buffalo horn; and the sheaths of various beautiful woods, of which a
kind of satin-wood seemed to have the preference; the wood is said
not to be luted together (nor has it the appearance of being so) in
the construction of the sheath, but is hollowed in an ingenious
manner from a solid piece, and is very liable to split with the least
blow; they are tastefully ornamented with a kind of tatauing, or
carving, performed with a small knife, into which, after the carving is
completed, some black pigment is rubbed, which gives an increased
effect to the decoration. They place a high value on the krisses and
klawangs, and they are usually ornamented with gold or silver,
according to the rank and wealth of the owner. The cutting portion
of the blade is formed of steel, the remainder of iron; the temper of
the weapons is not good, being extremely brittle.
The rajah was attired in the same apparel as on our interview
yesterday, but his followers formed, in dress, a motley group. There
was a fine looking lad, about fourteen years of age, who came with
the party; he was step-brother to the rajah, or, as we were informed
by a Moorman who spoke some English, “one father, two mothers,
rajah, and this boy;” he was dressed in a scarlet jacket, decorated
with gold lace, a handsome kris, and wore gold bangles around his
ancles. The young rajah ran about the ship, seeming to enjoy all he
beheld; mistook the sow (who behaved remarkably well on this
occasion, neither grunting nor giving any indications of the
suspicious family to which she belonged, but set upon her haunches
gazing unmeaningly at the visitors, who held her race in abhorrence)
for a kind of dog; and was delighted with the turkies, which he had
never seen before. A pair of the birds were presented to him, and
also a sheep, at which he was much gratified.
Our thin spare friend, the “trading minister,” and also a train of
attendants and merchants, accompanied the rajah; the former
antiquated personage brought with him his son, a little boy about
four or five years old; he was a keen, black-eyed little fellow, wore a
Moorman’s cap elegantly worked with gold lace, on his little shaved
cranium; a scarlet jacket and trowsers, a number of gold and silver
bangles about his wrists and ancles, and an amulet or charm (which
consists of a sentence from the Koran, written and placed in a case,
to protect the wearer from injury—the priests make a good harvest
in this kind of traffic, which appears to me strictly analogous to the
African fetishes) pended from his neck; the dark diminutive creature
chattered incessantly, and was inquisitive about every thing it saw;
appeared devoid of fear, and was quite tame, suffering itself to be
handled with impunity.
 After all our sable visitors had concluded their rambles over, and
inspection of, the ship, they were invited into the cuddy, seated
round the table, and cabin biscuit and cheese were placed before
them. They evinced some partiality to the former, by devouring large
quantities themselves, and passing supplies to the numerous
attendants who could not feed at the table; they could not be
induced thus publicly to taste wine or beer, being against the
Mahometan creed, but preferred cocoa-nut water, which they said “is
our wine and beer;” but few would refuse either wine or spirits in
private.
I amused them with some drawings; among others they
recognized that of the Pearly Nautilus, but said it was rarely
procured at this place, but was occasionally seen off the coast. They
named it “sea shrimp,” Udang laut; (Udang, shrimp; and laut, sea;)
they were not acquainted with the Orang Utan, of which I showed
them an engraving, but immediately knew that of the Hylobates
syndactyla, or “Ungka” ape, which, they observed, was found in the
woods of the interior of this island, but was very difficult to capture
alive.
The rajah having remained for some time on board, retired with
his attendants to the boat, and returned on shore, under a salute of
three guns from the ship, which compliment he also received on
coming on board. The rajah of Pedir is related to the king of Acheen,
and the territory is tributary to the Acheenese ruler. The population
of the Pedir district, (which does not extend far along the coast, but
to some distance inland,) is stated to be 100,000, and has several
petty rajahs tributary to it; but they appear all petty rajahs along this
coast, paying homage and tribute to the Acheenese king.
Often during the cool evenings, I amused myself by wandering
about the extensive beach on this coast, to observe and collect such
marine productions as might be interesting; a great number of dead
shells strewed the beach, but living shells, or those containing the
soft parts, were rare. Observing an antenna of some crustaceous
animal projecting from the moist sand, left by the receding of the
tide, I pulled it, and drew out two fine king crabs, jointed together
by their under surfaces, and thus united burrow in the sand; they
are called “Ecan, mimi” by the Javanese, and, on this coast, they are
named “Moi, moi.” The male is larger than the female; they are
eaten by the Javanese, but on this coast they are not eaten,
although the natives observe the Chinese are fond of them.[144] The
females lay their eggs in the sand, after carrying them for some
time, and, in about the second month, the young are produced;
these animals are perfectly harmless; they crawl rapidly, and when
touched draw the upper part of the shell a little inwards; and, as
they move, the long antenna bears a resemblance to a tail. When
placed on the back, they find much difficulty in regaining their
natural position.
Land crabs[145] were numerous, as were also the shells of the
genera Cytherea, Tellina, Mactra, Conus, Oliva, Cypræa, Harpa,
Dolium, Murex, Turbo, Nerita, and Dentalium; but although this was
an indication of the number about the coast, yet but very few were
procured in which the living animals were found. Among these was a
number of the Venus, and small species of Voluta: the latter buried
themselves with rapidity in the sand; the natives call them “Dunkin.”
Almost buried in a deep black mud, among which the roots of
mangrove trees abounded, the trees having been cut down, I found
a number of white bodies growing from a piece of rotten wood, and
being each about an inch in length,[146] and three-eighths of an inch
in breadth, containing a watery fluid, called “Sepur” by the natives;
they were not, however, eaten or used for any purpose by them. I
preserved several specimens in spirits.
A great number of the Pagurii, hermit or soldier crabs, of different
sizes, were running about the beach; two large specimens, that I
found, had each taken possession of the Dolium perdix, or partridge
shell, to which they were as firmly attached as if in their natural
habitation. The crustaceous portion of these animals is of a beautiful
lilac colour, the softer parts yellow, and the antennæ of a dark red
colour; the natives call them by the general name of “Sepo;” the
smaller kind inhabit Murices, Trochi, Neritæ, Helices, Lymneæ,
Cerethii, and other univalve shells. In some instances I saw large
shells of Harpa, &c., inhabited by very small animals of this kind,
moving their heavy and cumbrous dwelling slowly and with difficulty;
there were some of a red, and others of a sea-green colour, but the
larger were invariably of a beautiful lilac. May not this change of
colour depend upon their age?
The Pagurii feed upon dead animals, fish, and all kinds of offal, as
well as vegetable matter, such as skins of plantains, remains of
cocoa nuts, fruits, &c. I have often observed a number of these
creatures of various sizes congregated about a dead and putrid fish,
and it is ludicrous, on disturbing them in the midst of their feast, to
see them marching away, jumbling and overturning one another in
the hurry, causing a clattering noise to proceed from the collision of
their burrowed coverings; and should they not be able to escape
capture they draw themselves closely into the shell, closing the
aperture so firmly, by crossing the claws over the entrance, as to
render it impossible to extract them without breaking the shell to
pieces. Thus secured, they remain immoveable and apparently dead,
and may be kicked or thrown about, without giving any indications
of life; but danger passed, they emerge partly from the shell as
before, and move briskly away. The natives use them occasionally,
but rarely, as food.
It is not an improbable supposition, that the ova of these curious
crustaceous animals are deposited in the empty shells lying upon the
beach; and the changes these crustacea undergo is one of the most
interesting subjects of investigation which could engage the
attention of a practical naturalist. It is a curious fact that, no matter
whatever form the univalve shell may have, the posterior or soft
parts of the animal inhabiting it are accommodated to it; thus
causing persons not accustomed to observe the changes of natural
objects to regard this as the original inhabitant; and it is oftentimes
difficult to persuade them of the reverse: the posterior portion of the
animal being naked, and the anterior crustaceous, the former
evidently requires some protection.
 One morning (having previously received a general invitation) I
visited the rajah at his habitation: the situation was an extensive plot
of ground, containing numerous houses in the usual Malay style of
building, being the residences of the rajah, his wives, and
attendants; the whole enclosed by lofty waving bamboos, forming a
close and impenetrable fence; and the interior planted with a
number of fruit trees and flowering shrubs. The entrance was by a
gateway, over which was a small room, in which his highness
receives visitors, or wiles away a leisure hour in smoking, talking, or
sleeping. I ascended to it by a bamboo ladder, and found myself in a
cool but dirty room, containing a small bed, over which a mat was
laid; the curtains about it seemed to have remained in ignorance,
since they came from the loom, of the application of water. Some
carved boxes, (one of which served me for a seat,) a native shield,
and a few other trumpery articles, constituted the furniture of the
apartment. And here I was received in a cordial manner by the
rajah.
His highness was attired in a common Madras cloth sarong and
sandalong, which, like the curtains, seemed never to have
undergone ablution; he wore, in lieu of a turban, the usual
particoloured Moorman’s cap or cupia, which merely covered the top
of his head. The personal appearance of the rajah reminded me of
the tribe of animals they abhor for uncleanness—I allude to the hog,
of which he informed us there were plenty wild, if we were desirous
of hunting them.
Cocoa-nut water was introduced, being the usual beverage in the
country, and proving both wholesome and refreshing. The cocoa
palm abounds, and they have numerous varieties. The Malay name
for the nut is Kalapas; in the Acheenese language the tree is called
Ba, hu, (ba signifying tree, and hu cocoa-nut,)—a ripe nut, Hu,
massa,—and a green one, Hu, mudar.[147] This palm forms a
beautiful and picturesque object in the tropical landscape. In the
Appendix I purpose giving an account of this valuable, ornamental,
and useful palm, and the various uses for which it is employed in the
different countries where it abounds.[148]
The habitations in the rajah’s inclosure were raised from the
ground, (which is the usual Malay style of constructing houses,) and
were ascended by means of rude bamboo ladders. They are formed,
for the most part, of bamboo, and thatched with palm leaves; but
one of larger size and neater style was the immediate residence of
the rajah and his wives; the young rajah having, as we were
informed, two concubines, eighteen years of age each,—and a child,
now four years old, betrothed to him as his intended wife. Near the
habitations the cocoa, plantain, orange, mango, and custard apple
trees grew, shading them by the grandeur and profusion of their
foliage. There was also a house (which from the commencement,
being now in frame, appeared intended to be of some extent,) which
had been commenced by the old rajah not long before his death;
but the building was obliged to be discontinued by the young rajah,
on his succession, from a want of the necessary funds for its
construction.
At one part of the inclosure a bamboo ladder ascended to a little
elevation, which brought us to a plank, over which we passed into
the fort adjoining the residence of the rajah, and was mounted with
several large brass guns, most of which had the arms of the East
India Company upon them. The fort was built of stone, elevated
about sixteen or eighteen feet from the ground, covered over with a
thatch of palm leaves, and having a look-out house upon the
summit. There were lamps, which are lighted after dark, and remain
so during the night, a sentinel being also stationed there. From
some large rents in the walls of the fort, it was evident that the
concussion of the guns, if fired off, (which they had not yet been,)
would bring the whole fabric down about their ears: the minister and
“authorities” thought the same, and said a stronger fort was to be
built, when a sufficient number of stones calculated for the purpose
could be collected.[149] Although abundance of cocoa-nut water was
given us to drink, yet nothing was offered us to eat; by which I